


In Festival Terms

by sfiddy



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Chivalry, F/M, Politics, Romance, anachronistic because the whole show is, marian deserved better, strong ladies fixing history, weaponized chivalry and manners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: "I cannot woo in festival terms." -- Benedict, Much Ado About NothingMarian is forced to be the Lady of Knighton very young, overseeing the manor, lands, and the festivals of Knighton.  Her future seems perfectly framed, idyllic, and inevitable.  And then the Crusades came.  As Marian carries on, unease clouds the region and comes to Knighton during a festival, dressed in black.Politics and romance both favor a good feast.
Relationships: Guy of Gisborne/Marian of Knighton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. The Maiden's Feast

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been sitting in my docs for a year. It's not done (more than 10k at present), but it's largely planned, partially plotted, and completely needs to let into the wild. Rating may change, you never know.

Little Maid Marian bopped along at the edges of the festival, dodging her nurses and her distracted father’s commands. Spirited and bright, she was as likely to dash off into a bramble to chase fattening rabbits as dart between the older girls' skirts, watching them giggle and point. 

“Marian! Let them have their time without you underfoot!” 

The older girls and young women of the shire looked like they were having such fun as the boys and young men ran from tables to carts, to an old matron and a mother of many children, each guarding heaps of bread, roasted meat, pies, and fruit. The lads carried plates, plucking bits here and arranging there until they sheepishly approached a girl they favored with their offering.

Marian spotted a tray of strawberry tarts and made a dash for one, only to be redirected with a meaty ham bone and a promise for a sweet from the kitchens. She gnawed, not contentedly perhaps, but stayed occupied until her full tummy had her eyes drifting closed. 

“Alright, young miss. Off to bed with you.” A nurse bent low to lift her, but Marian leapt up and ran to where the tarts had been.

“Where did they go?” she complained.

“Oh dear heart, what the girls didn’t get, the boys stole.” At Marian’s scowl, the nurse sighed and led the way to the kitchens. “But I’m sure we can find you a little treat. Come on then, miss, but keep your eyes to yourself, mind.”

Never one to be told what to do, Marian gaped at the young couples, tucked in corners, and heard low murmurs muffled by the crackles of fires dotted here and there. Shaky light flickered and hid the participants, but Marian saw and wondered at the half-closed eyes, and the way one body seemed to run over into the next in the shadows.

These wonderings evaporated when she found the last remaining tart, set aside by the head cook, who never forgot the young Lady of Knighton’s favorites.

…

The feast was increasingly well attended, and Marian found herself playing messenger between the different groups. Even at age ten, the lady of the manor was expected to help coordinate events. She would learn by doing and grow into her role all the sooner.

But she could not participate. Not yet, anyway.

“Fetch the pies and keep them away from the roast. Make the boys work to find the meats.” Marian pointed to a shady spot beneath a crop of pear trees. “And the fruit should stay in the shade, just there.”

The group of matrons she instructed nodded sagely in agreement. Lord Knighton would be pleased at how quickly his daughter learned. She’d even tended the strawberry beds herself this year and there was enough for a bowl of perfect, bright red fruit to spare. Minus, of course, the berries she’d spirited away. She wasn’t about to give away all of them. Later, when everyone was more distracted, she would run across the golden field and lay in the tall grass with her juicy treasures.

Once the tables were set the groups of young men and women grew restless. Older men drew the younger ones apart when they scuffled and matrons encouraged the girls to be patient and gracious. When they were underway, Marian watched the boys scour the cuts and joints for the best meat, pluck strings from tender roasts, and find the prettiest pastries. A few jostled and prepared as many as three plates, and others painstakingly arranged a single plate with the best of everything. Time was a limiting factor, and if the boys were to spend too much time at one table or another, they were likely to miss the offerings of another. 

Curious about these details, Marian scooted closer to the young women, hoping to watch the antics sure to follow, but was scooted off to supper and bed. She reluctantly turned away and did as she was told, but not before stealing a glance to see the first boys presenting plates to the girls with varying degrees of success. One girl accepted a strawberry, biting the fruit from a boy’s fingertips as his mouth fell open.

“Lady Marian, off you go! Your supper’s getting cold!”

…

Marian’s maid fussed at her hem and barked orders down the stairs. Outside the window, beyond the garden, the tables were being loaded according to her orders, and the roasting pits were being unearthed, filling the air with the mouthwatering smell of roasted pork, pheasant, and game. Her strawberry beds had been carefully tended and she’d plucked the last of the ripe ones just that morning, resisting the biggest, juiciest looking one in the hopes she might have another chance at it later. During the festival. 

Her skirts were long and her hair was up. The house bustled as the feast, festival, and lady were all prepared. At fourteen, little Marian was now Lady Marian, Lady of Knighton and keeper of the lands and, as such, she was likely to create a stir once she entered society. For years, the murmurs had circulated that Edward’s little chatelaine was as pretty as she was effective, so the entire household and shire turned out to make the day an event. 

And what an event it was turning out to be! Her rank certainly earned her a place amongst the noble and landed, but no less than five earls and their sons came, followed by a score of wealthy knights and dozens of men who had noble blood and little else to their names. 

“Now, my lady, one of your father’s men will be near you the whole time. And don’t start trying to go running off.” The maid edged closer as she affixed loops of ribbon, fashioned to look like flowers, into Marian’s loosely constrained hair. “I was once a girl, too, my lady. I know all the dark corners so don’t be thinking you can get past me!”

Marian smiled nervously. She knew where they were, too. “Of course not, Bess. I’ll stay near the house.”

“And don’t be letting some lad try to lure you away. Your father’s paid for guards this year so it’s more than just Knighton folk watching.” The maid finished her pinning and admired her work. “The poor soul who takes too much of a liking to you is liable to get his head bashed.”

Marian laughed and swirled her skirts. “I have to marry someday, Bess. If my father sets the hounds on every man who comes near, they’ll eventually stop coming!”

Bess paused her primping. “My lady, I believe you may have struck on your father’s plan. Now, off we go. Remember to watch for the crests and mind the ranks. It’s your first time out, so best play it safe.”

Within a minute of leaving the house, the festival seemed to center on Marian, following her closely in a churning ring. She examined the tables and sampled a nibble here and there, checking that her guests would not be disappointed. Meanwhile, her father stood by the large suckling pig and called for attention.

“Honored guests, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Knighton Maiden’s Feast! Our deepest thanks to the people of Knighton and the nearby villages that joined to make today the celebration it is.” Sir Edward of Knighton offered a deep bow to the men and women tending the roasting pits and tables. 

“So, without further ado, gentlemen, it is a man’s duty to feed his family, and that duty begins with the woman he wishes to settle with. Our light hearted feast helps the young people learn the value of community and the rules of courting. Lads! On my mark, you may begin fetching such delicacies as to tempt a young lady to share her time.”

There burst forth a joyous cheer and scuffling that quieted when Sir Edward raised his hands. 

“Your attention please! Before we begin, Father Mayson has agreed to bless the feast, and I have assured him that the day’s events will be in accord with the Church.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “If you’ll note, there’s a number of guards stationed about. Mind yourselves!” He straightened and motioned to the priest, a man who managed to look both pious and jolly at once.

Marian bent her head and steepled her hands in prayer. The priest blessed the food, the fields, and the blooming things of the land, reminding everyone that the life around them was a gift, and it was their duty to tend it, each other, and the next generation. The last was symbolically done today, that by tending their women they tended the future.

A few guffaws were silenced with a stern glare.

“And so, go forth and celebrate!” He blessed the day and accepted a cup of mead with a grin, heading towards a table for a plate of meat.

In a blink, Marian was tugged to join a group of girls who giggled and admired her while they watched the comical proceedings. Boys on the cusp of manhood fairly ran at the tables, stumbling in their clumsy eagerness. Some older ones hung back and let the youths snatch and grab, preferring to pluck flowers from the arrangements here and there. In minutes, amusement turned to surprise when the first plate arrived in front of Marian. 

His green and gold embroidered doublet was splattered with grease, and he was fairly sweating into the heaped morsels he held out. Marian stepped back and looked away to find another and another similarly haphazard offering. The girls she stood with, though they thinned as some accepted enthusiastically assembled offerings, stayed nearby, helping Marian to shift away as she wished.

“Lady Marian!” came a haughty call. The girls parted to allow through a handsome, if rangy-thin, youth. He stepped forward, proud as a peacock, carrying a plate full of her favorites. There was a slice of pie, juicy looking shreds of pork, and a pile of her precious strawberries sparkling with honey drops. 

The youth bowed and held out the plate. “My lady, will you accept this plate in exchange for a bit of your time?”

“Good sir, I would be honored.” She curtseyed low, biting back laughter. “It took you long enough, Robin!”

He straightened up and shot her a sly grin. “Well, it takes time to steal all the strawberries.” With that, he snatched a handful from her plate and plopped one in his mouth.


	2. Vintage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After announcing their engagement, Robin leaves for the Holy Land with King Richard. Marian continues on in limbo, promised and unmarried; unmarried and yet somehow half widow. Wine must age, but not too long.

The following year found Marian as skittish as a colt. While the actual event was likely years away, the assurance of her future, as well as that of her father, extended family, the whole of her estates and her future children, would be secured, locked as tightly as the gates on the pig pens. And that lock could close as soon as today.

It was not unusual for engagements to be announced at or soon after the maiden’s feast. It was an event made to make it happen, whatever the reasons. Just last year, a girl barely older than Marian was engaged and wed within weeks of the festival. It was said that Father Mayson walked the grounds throughout the day and kept the event proper in the eyes of the church. 

Marian supposed he found something that wasn’t proper, and put it to rights. The girl didn’t seem bothered, though there was talk amongst the men that it 'wasn’t a hanging offense'. That night, Marian had to ask Bess what that meant and let out an annoyed huff at her answer.

“Oh, dear heart. Some men aren’t made for it, no matter what they say. Others are, even if they deny it. Still others think they need to wait till the time’s right, or when they can afford to.” Bess had tugged Marian’s hair into a braid for bed. “If we all waited for the right time to do something, there’d be no crops, no houses, and no babies. Sometimes you just have to do and let the world rearrange itself.”

Under the bright sun, it was hard to imagine a better day or time for it. The fields were growing beautifully despite early season flooding that had cost Marian her strawberry beds. Knighton’s tenants paid their rents and fees on time and with little complaint, and the market was filled with good things.

Many of which were here today. Along with the usual roasts, vegetables, and greens, there were leek tarts and pork pies, chunks of cheese, and figs nestled beside shining apples. From her window, the view was impressive even if it was missing bowls of her berries. To make up for it, platters of pear and apple tarts stood in their place, and hardly a visitor passed without pausing at the blushing fruits.

Bess arranged Marian’s skirts and checked that her hair was secure. “Now, my lady. Are you well? Ready for today?”

She smoothed her hand over the embroidered silver flowers that circled her bodice. “Yes. Is it strange that I am happy? Some girls say they are afraid but I will marry my friend. How could I not be happy?”

With an indulgent smile, Bess smoothed down the last details. “And yet I met my husband three days before we wed, and I was as happy as I could be until he passed.” She packed her combs and pins away and patted Marian’s hand. “It’s time, my lady.”

Marian nodded, and headed downstairs.

The entire village and throngs of visitors erupted with applause at the announcement of Lady Marian of Knighton’s engagement to Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon. After the announcement, a red-faced, disheveled page ran forward bearing a basket lined with cheesecloth. Robin took it and held it out to Marian.

“Will you accept a gift, my lady?” 

She took it and, at his urging, unfolded the cloth. A modest pile of bright red berries winked up at her from the basket and Marian laughed with delight.

“I did not think any survived the storms! Thank you!”

Around her, a troop of pages and other men of Locksley marched by, each carrying similar baskets, and stationed themselves in front of the young ladies. Cries of delight rose as they dove into the baskets.

It was quite a gesture, but Marian felt a bit… less. It wasn’t kind, she knew, and she would never begrudge the other young women a sweet, but it wasn’t the same. She smiled and waved at the other girls who cheered their thanks to Robin, who grinned and preened at their adoration.

Marian turned back with a smile. “Well, you seem to have wooed all the county, good sir.”

“I only _needed_ to woo you,” he said with a wink. “The rest were an accident. Besides, if your strawberry beds failed, who else would I steal them from?” Like lightning, his hand snatched up a handful of her berries and he crammed three in his mouth at once, shiny juice slicking his lips. Then, at the urging and cheers from the crowd, he tugged her by the wrist and kissed her, sticky sweet and full of smiles.

Later, Marian found a juice stain on her cuff. It had darkened, and stubbornly refused to be washed out.

...

A pall hovered over the feast. There was less color and fewer decorations, and the offerings at the tables were less elaborate. A year of labor with fewer hands to get it done weighed muted the energy of the crowd.

The women and girls milled around, waiting for one of the precious suitors to bring them a meal. Marian had expected a muted festival but it was worse than she had expected. As dejected as she felt, she struggled to find a way to brighten the day, but it was not easy from her place by her father’s side. Her days of playing at the feast were over.

Bess tucked loose strands of Marian’s hair into coils and set them with nets fitting a woman who was almost a wife. “It seems the cheer sailed away along with the king, my lady.” She paused to check fastenings and the drape of a belt. “It’s a shame Master Robin chose to go, but he is a favorite of the king.”

“King Richard will return next year,” Marian said. She kept saying it every chance she got. “When he does, we will be married and unite the estates.” Marian gave a cheerful smile. “I hope you’ve got a sturdy bag ready, for I expect Robin will want to marry as soon as the ship lands!”

Bess nodded. “I’m sure you’re right, my lady.”

There were far too many girls and the young men were run ragged by the time the music started. They soldiered on and though the day ended early, everyone had a full belly and a dance. The guards, the few that remained, had an easy time of it, for so few couples could be made that hardly any had to be shooed off.

Another year passed with little word from the holy land. Though anxious, Marian organized and arranged for the feast to be held as always. The young women, refusing to let the day be ruined, took ownership of the festival and celebrated themselves, despite their ragged and patched dresses. Hair was left in braids or even flowed free, and the youngest girls were allowed to join in the dancing early, refusing to depend on the lads for the chance. The girls went from table to table in groups, sometimes escorted by a lad, sometimes not. The rules shifted like Marian imagined the sands of the Holy Land did.

Father Mayson made a weak protest until he was presented with a plum tart. He meekly blessed the feast, gently reminding the girls that they were the Lord’s own.

Bess chuckled. “The Lord hasn’t seen a _proper_ festival, I guess.”

Marian tucked her hair back and sat near her father quietly “Oh, go and have some strawberries. The beds were generous this year.”

...

Her father was nervous these days. His returns from council meetings at Nottingham, once a happy homecoming with a fresh meal and mead, were dark and brooding. Change, dangerous at the best of times, was altering the balance of the council members. With the king so long away, the instability led to infighting, and the factions that formed drew their authority from new places. More dangerous still, they offered positions based on loyalty to the faction, not learning or qualification.

Through all this, Marian struggled with her own discontent. After three years, she had trouble recalling the earl’s face. A profile here or a wisp of sandy hair there set her heart pounding only to be disappointed a moment later. Fragments congealed in her mind and were swept away like morning fog burned away by the sun. Nothing but dreams.

Marian shook herself. “Bess, did the folk of Clun and Nettlestone arrive?”

“Yes, my lady. As well as Merton and Gisborne.” Bess shooed others about as Marian checked the kitchen’s reports. 

Marian paused. “Gisborne?”

“Sorry, Miss. I meant the estate that once was the Locksley and Nottinghamshire manor grounds.”

Marian hummed absently. She had no great interest in the swapped entails of the countryside when the feast tables were out.

She went to the door and looked out at the festival field. “Surely not. It’s so quiet.” The festival field was bland and washed out-- homespun fabrics had gone without dye for so long the color was all but gone. Dresses lacked trim but the ladies had grown creative-- greenery was woven into sashes or crowns, and braids were tied up with flowers and what little ribbon remained. 

There were scores of girls by the trees and a fair number of young men watching as the tables were finished. The pits had been dug up and the roasts were ready to be laid out and carved. Earthenware basins of roasted apples, baskets of strawberries, and plates of figs and plums winked in the light. Everything was prepared; what was missing was the enthusiasm.

“My lady, you’ll have to goad them into action at this rate.”

With a sigh, Marian set her small veil into place and let Bess set it. “I don’t know if I can. I’m in no mood for a lecture from Father Mayson about the duties of married women and setting examples.”

“You’re not married, my lady.”

“I’m as good as. What would it look like if I acted like a fresh maid?”

Bess huffed. “You _are_ a fresh maid, my lady. Last I checked, your young man is two years overdue. Good wine takes time but it sours before long.”

Marian turned sharply. “I’ll thank you to watch your tone.”

“Someone’s got to point it out. Your father is too distracted and you’ll work yourself gray tending lands you won't inherit when he’s gone.” Bess softened with a small sigh and patted Marian’s dropped shoulders. “You’ve got time, and you should make use of it. Over the coming year, you can slowly come back out. By the next festival, no one will bat an eye that you’re taking a plate along with the others again, and by then you’ll be a proper age.”

Marian leaned away, indignant. “I was the proper age when I got betrothed!”

With a chuckle, Bess picked up the tray of porridge and dates Marian had nibbled as she worked. “You were old enough to get betrothed, but not to marry. But you’re older now,” Bess paused at the door. “The right kind of men have a hard time walking away from a woman like you.”

Bess left, barking orders at the staff as she crossed the house. Maybe that was the crux of it all. The right kind of men. Robin was a good man, a loyal man. A man the king trusted and relied on-- so much he took him on a holy mission. But was that the same as _right_? 

The sun was high overhead and the feast was ready, so Marian hurried off to begin the festival on her father’s behalf. It was a good festival, with much dancing and eating and carrying on and, despite the dampened exuberance, Marian felt the first twinge of jealousy at the attention and coddling the ladies enjoyed. 

Maybe Bess was right. Maybe the wine was ready.


End file.
